Don't Take Me For Granted
by TeamHedlund
Summary: Oneshot AU ficlet in Boone's PoV, set two years before the plane crash. Shannon finds herself in yet another one of her predicaments, and Boone runs to her rescue, just as he always does. Rated for character death. Reviews would be swell.


**DISCLAIMER**: LOST and its characters are the property of J.J. Abrams, Jeffrey Lieber, and Damon Lindelhof. I am but a humble fan, and no money is being made from this. If you decide to sue me just for shits and giggles, all you're going to get is a stack of indie CDs, a pair of grungy Converse sneakers, and an empty pudding cup. In other words: I've got nothing. :D 'Don't Take Me For Granted' is the name of a song by the band Social Distortion.

- - - -

The droning hum from the silence on the other end of the line is enough to lull me back to sleep. It seems like a lifetime has passed since either of us has said anything, and my elbow is beginning to ache from holding the phone to my ear for so long. I feel like screaming into the receiver, then throwing it across the room with all the force I can muster. "Shannon," I say at last, though I can barely recognize my own voice. It sounds so distant. Defeated, even. I'm fighting to keep my eyes open, and she takes her time responding; waiting until I'm positive that she's hung up on me (something that I've grown quite accustomed to) and have the phone halfway to its cradle before speaking.

"What?" she asks, sounding mildly annoyed, as though I've disturbed her in some way. The phone back to my ear, I have to bite down hard on my tongue in order to keep from (not so) gently reminding her that she's the one who called _me_. The clock across the room reads _four-eleven_, and I begin to massage my eyes, which are still heavy with sleep, with my free hand. This girl has gall unlike any I've ever seen before, and I'm ready to let her have it.

Instead, I hear myself ask: "What do you want me to do?" I don't get an immediate answer, but her breathing changes and I can tell that she's crying. I can feel a strain on my heart at her choked sob, and sleep is immediately forgotten as I throw back the covers, swinging my feet out of the bed and letting them rest on the carpeted floor. "Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

- - - -

I find the night air to be extremely refreshing, stepping out of my SUV twenty-three minutes later. A cool breeze plays across my face, ruffling my hair and sending a chill down my spine. Walking around to the passenger side, I see her standing on the sidewalk surrounded by an arsenal of baggage. She rubs her bare arms, looking at me through her smudged eyeliner. "Get in," I tell her. "Crank the heat. I'll get your stuff." Without a word, she does exactly that. Not that I'm surprised. There's never any 'Nonsense; let me help you with that!' from _my_ sister.

I feel an odd sense of dejá vù as I begin to pile her things into the back end of my Range Rover. Probably because this isn't the first time I've had to get out of bed in the middle of the night to go and rescue her from whatever crazy situation she's gotten herself into. It takes some work, but I finally manage to squeeze the last bag in. When I climb back into the driver's seat, all the windows are up and warm air is pouring through the vents. Just before the overhead light goes out, I notice the goose bumps on her arms and grab my sweatshirt from the backseat, handing it to her. She pulls it over her head, and I can't help but smirk at how ridiculous it looks on her. Thankfully, she's looking out the window and doesn't notice.

Deciding to take the long way home, I try to spark some conversation. "So, what happened exactly? With Mike, I mean." I tear my eyes away from the road momentarily, so I can look over at her. Her eyes are still averted toward the countryside, but we pass under a streetlight, and I can see that her cheeks are stained with fresh tears. Her hand is resting on the console, and I'm yearning to cover it with one of my own; to comfort her in any way that I can, let her know that everything is going to be just fine.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and I glance over at her again, only to find that her eyes are also on me. "Thank you," she says, as another tear leaks from the corner of her eye. The corners of her lips turn up into the briefest of smiles, and I swallow hard, shifting my eyes back to the road. I can still feel her eyes on me as I begin to slow the vehicle for the intersection up ahead.

"For what?" I ask, rather apathetically, once we've come to a stop. I furrow my brow when I don't get an answer, and when I chance another glance toward her, my face falls when I see an empty seat. I give a frantic look around me, and wonder what kind of sick joke my mind is playing on me. There are no bags in the back end, and my sweatshirt is still neatly folded on the backseat.

I don't hear the blaring of the horn and the squealing brakes until it's too late. The semi slams into the side of my SUV with an ear-shattering crash. All around me, I hear the sickening crunch of metal and breaking glass. I can feel my flesh being torn and bones snapping and breaking. I'm gasping for breath, but the air isn't coming. Blood seeps through a cut somewhere on my head and drips into my eyes. I squeeze them shut, as tight as I can, and try to scream for help. Something is wound around my neck, constricting my airway and keeping the oxygen at bay. I begin to grope desperately for the seatbelt, trying to free myself. I cough and choke, tugging at the material as hard as I can.

After a few minutes, I lose the desire to pull any longer. My fingers go limp, and my hearing becomes strangely muted, like thunder trapped in a pillowcase. I can hear a siren somewhere in the distance. There's a voice inside my head screaming at me to hang on just a little bit longer, that help is on the way. _No_, I tell the voice. _It's okay. It doesn't even hurt anymore_. The frantic yells of the paramedics are growing fainter and fainter, and the last thing I remember is the shrill ringing of my cell phone.

- - - -

_Hey, you've reached Boone. Please leave a message, and I'll get back to you. Thanks._

_Hey, bonehead. It's Shannon. Where the hell are you? I've been waiting for over an hour. Hurry up, would you? It's freezing out here._

- - - -

**A/N**: Not only is this my first LOST fic, it's also the first fic that I've ever posted publicly. It hadn't been my original intention to kill off Boone, but this story just kind of wrote itself. :O Depending on what kind of feedback I get, I may decide to write more. Not of this particular story (though I do feel the need to write a companion in Shannon's PoV), but just the LOST fandom in general. Hope you liked it! - Aynn.


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